


these bones, like lead

by Recluse



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And Everything Goes Wrong, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Everything Hurts, Gen, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Theoretical Canon, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7794685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recluse/pseuds/Recluse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He makes one mistake.</p><p>He pays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these bones, like lead

_No._

_No, this wasn’t supposed to happen._

_This wasn’t supposed to happen, you weren’t supposed to be hurt, you can’t be—_

Shiro grins, standing atop a Galra ship, silver arm a glittering, glowing beacon. It pulses a pale purple light as he waves his hand over the wall of Galra soldiers, commanding, voice loud and clear as it rings across the field. Even in a lion, Keith hears him, clear as a bell in a silent room.

“Fire.”

The word hits Keith like a bullet.

* * *

_“What do you mean you left Shiro?! He’s our leader! What kind of—”_

_“It’s not like I wanted to!” He shouts, worn raw, open wound, “We were out of options, I—”_

_“Out of options? Seriously? You left OUR LEADER to the Galra because you were ‘out of options’?! You left the red lion and Shiro for that? How are we gonna form Voltron now?!”_

_“Lance, we’ll get him back—”_

_“—No, don’t you dare interrupt me! Keith messed up! Leaving Shiro alone? Taking his lion? How’d you even get the black lion to work for you? Weren’t they connected to each of us specifically?”_

_He shakes his head, tries to tell the story over, keeps his anger in through shallow breaths and overwhelming guilt. Lance is right, for once, Lance is right about everything — he never should have let Shiro be captured, he should have stayed, should have tried fighting with him, they could have won, they could have gotten away in their proper lions. Shiro would be in Black’s pilot seat, keeping Red and Keith afloat, he could have done everything differently and instead he’s gone and ruined everything, a disaster, all because he rushed in too fast, too proud, too cocky—_

_—Lance has him by the collar of his shirt, the angriest Keith has ever seen him. He shakes him roughly. Snarls, all teeth._

_“How can you pilot Shiro’s lion after what you did?”_

_And then Keith loses it, furious, murderous, he rips himself from Lance’s grip and dives at him because the same question has been on his mind ever since he left that planet’s atmosphere. Ever since he managed to get into Black’s pilot seat, begging, pounding against the dashboard, shields already weak enough for him to slip in. Praying to gods he’s forgotten about, pleading, for Shiro, he did this for us, please. Please, I’m sorry. This is my fault. I didn’t think it would end up like this. I’m sorry. Let me in, for him, please,_ **_please_** _—_

_—Hunk and Coran pull him away from Lance as Pidge and Allura handle Lance. He’s wiping blood away from his nose. Keith feels something running, doesn’t think much of it._

_“You think I wanted to leave him there?!” Keith shouts, because he never lets things lie, “I only did it because Shiro asked, because that’s what he wanted, that's what he said—”_

_“Like I believe that!” Lance struggles against Allura and Pidge’s arms, bristling, anger in waves. “You? Leading us? I’d rather fly myself straight into a Galra ship!”_

_Keith lunges, straining against his restraints, feels like a caged dog, one too many kicks._

* * *

He hates this. He hates sitting in this seat, hates this fragile connection, misses Red, longs for her speed, her spitfire.

They have her back. They found her, lost in a whirlpool on the planet where he left Shiro, the last effort the both of them had done to hide her, a deep spring.

They found her. They didn’t find Shiro.

Keith’s not sure which is worse, which would be.

Logically, it’s better that they found her. Red is needed to form Voltron. Shiro is, as much as it pains him to think it, not, Shiro is the pilot, not the machine, and pilots — pilots can be replaced. The lions can adjust to new ones, should it be necessary, and it’s that thought that reminds Keith of the vague twinge in the back of his head from Black, hesitant and weak, but trying to comfort him.

He hates it. Not Black, but that fact that they’re trying so hard, that it’s happening, even though Shiro should be the one sitting in this seat. Even though Keith shouldn’t know what it’s like to be the head of a tentative Voltron, should only know how to be a hand with a sword, a hot breeze rushing past their enemy.

He misses Red. He wishes Allura would switch with him, then doesn’t, feels a wave of possessiveness over Black, remembers that Shiro asked him specifically to lead, told him to.

(A final request.)

It’s taken time. Lance is still angry with him. Everyone is afraid.

Keith is not the leader Shiro was. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be.

Still, Voltron can be formed. They do it with the mind that they’ll get Shiro back, and then everything will re-calibrate, back to how it’s supposed to be.

* * *

 

_No, he thinks, terror in his veins, this wasn’t supposed to happen._

 

* * *

It’s a silent ride back to the castle.

A failure. Too much of a shock.

“...That...Was Shiro, wasn’t it?”

Hunk breaks the silence first, terrified when every head swivels towards him, voicing the things none of them want to think about.

Silence.

“I think it was.”

Pidge fiddles with their glasses, looks down at the floor. “It looked like him. I mean, it could have been some kind of holographic technology or something, we didn’t get close enough to look, and he left before we could.”

They look up, suddenly hopeful. “Maybe it’s a trick? Their tech is pretty advanced, realistic, three-dimensional visuals are—”

“It was him.”

Keith sighs, sinks into the couch, cradles his head in his hands. “It was Shiro.”

“What? How are you so sure?”

“I just…” Keith shrugs, struggles with the words. He was never any good at talking. “I could tell. I could feel it. Maybe it’s because of Black’s connection with him, I don’t know.”

Another beat of silence. The weight of it drapes over Keith like a chain.

“They brainwashed him.” Lance says, first softly, then angrier, offended, outraged. “They brainwashed him! That’s the only way Shiro would ever turn on us.”

That, at least, is something they unanimously agree on.

“So all we gotta do is get him back and unbrainwash him.” Lance pounds his fist into his palm, nods at the rest of them. “Yeah. That’s gotta work.”

Keith wants to believe it. He really does, aches for hope, longs for the stars in everyone else’s eyes.

But he’s been through enough to know that things like this are never as easy as they sound, and—

—and he remembers the look Shiro had shot him, just before they had formed Voltron together to fight his — his _army_ , the pale yellow flash in his eyes, the wicked grin, the _good luck_ that was anything but.

_Your problem, now._

* * *

_Patience yields focus._

_Patience. Yields. Focus._

_Patience yields focus. Patience yields focus, patience yields focus, patience yields focus patience yields patience patience p a t i e n c e would have kept him with you—_

_—He wakes up in a cold sweat. Gropes in the dark blindly until his hand lands on his knife’s hilt, looking at it through the dark._

_He remembers the day before everything went wrong._

_“We’ll be okay Keith. As long as we stick together, they should find us.”_

* * *

This is the second time, and he’s on foot now, forced to fight towards Shiro in the thick black and magenta forest, dirty blue ground under his feet. Lance and Hunk are on the ground with him. Pidge and Allura are monitoring the air with Coran.

His nerves prickle. He doesn’t know where Lance and Hunk are. He can’t keep up with everything that shoots through his head, every thought he has. The forest sets him on edge. He can’t see well enough. He hasn’t slept right ever since the first failure.

He doesn’t know where Shiro is.

He doesn’t know what Shiro can do.

He hears him before he sees him, gets kicked in the back, wind knocked out of him, stumbling over a root before spinning around, searching for him. Hoping, dreading.

Shiro appears.

It’s not him, it is him. Everything about what Keith sees is wrong, from the smug grin on his face to the armor on his body, decorated with Galran symbols, the flash of yellow in his eyes that’s brighter than the last time Keith saw him. The way his arm glows a deeper color, fighting stance, waiting. A cat playing with the prey. A dirty duelist. The kinds of things that Shiro never was.

“Good to see you again, Keith.” The grin doesn’t falter. “That all you got?”

He roars when he rises, charges, and Shiro plays him, gets him right in the chest, laughing cruelly when Keith stumbles backwards, choked gasp from his throat.

 _Not him._ His head is ringing. _This isn’t Shiro. This is someone else._

“Keith? Keith, answer us! Hey, are you okay? Where are you?!”

His helmet crinkles with static as he swings again, manages to dodge the third hit and thwacks Shiro in the arm. It’s like it didn’t even hit him, or if it does, Shiro — _not Shiro_ — doesn’t show it, simply jumps away before barreling back at him, swinging his arm like an axe. An executioner.

They fight. One swing blocked for one swing taken, one swing missed for one swing’s contact. Keith fights with all he’s got, but it hurts, it hurts like all the fire in him is burning him up, inside out, ashes to ashes, every hit he lands he wants to wince, because this is still Shiro’s body, this is still, in some shape, Shiro, who never deserved anything like this.

He missteps. These roots are his deathbed, he lies, knows that Shiro will not hesitate, will strike him down—

—Except he doesn’t, his other arm — still human, still flesh — a tight grip around the metal hand, being burnt, his eyes deep brown, agony, teeth gritting, grinding against each other, a single word, “ _Keith._ ”

He takes his chances. He always has. He kicks up and Shiro stumbles away from him, and then something fires from the right, and Lance comes through the clearing, and Shiro—

—Relief crosses over his features before his eyes start to yellow, and he snarls.

“Shut up!” He clutches his head. “ _Shut_ _up!_ You are _useless! You are only a weapon for Zarkon!_ ”

He escapes, if only because he goes wildly into the forest, deeper into the pitch black. They could go after him, but all three of them on the ground are wounded, aching, and Keith feels himself starting to waver, black out.

* * *

_The pod is silent. Like being underwater._

_Keith isn’t sure he’s supposed to be able to think._

_But he does._

_White. Yellow. Light, a purple tint. Sorry. Fearful. Scared._

_Shiro._

_Warm._

* * *

This is not what was supposed to happen. This was never what he wanted.

If he could go back in time, he would stop his past self, even if it meant killing him. If it would stop this, prevent this, he would run his sword into his chest without a second thought.

Shiro dives at him, eyes a bright yellow, almost aglow, arm an axe, a sword, a halberd, a gauntlet, bright light clashing against his bayard, two immovable forces pushing against each other like one will eventually break.

 _I learned patience,_ he thinks, _for you, I learned how to listen, for you_ —

— _Black speaks to me, I learned how to speak, I learned how to hold together a team_ —

— _I can focus, I don’t run straight into things anymore, I understand what you went through_ —

 _Please_ —

— _don’t make me do this alone._

_Don’t leave me behind again._

One strike. Two. The sound of a battle around them, Shiro the commander of a fleet of ships, the lone solider able to fight the leader of the Voltron Paladins, Zarkon’s  _Champion_.

Torn armor, heavy steps. Savage grin.

Keith puts his all into it, like he always has. Guarded.

“What’s the matter?” Shiro says, “You used to rush right in. Scared?”

He doesn’t answer. He charges.

Shiro ducks, sweeps his legs out from under his, grips him by the throat too fast for Keith to register, squeezes. Air stops reaching his lungs, carbon stops leaving, Keith gasps, wheezes, rasps, almost screams when Shiro steps on his hand and forces his bayard out of it, kicks it a few inches out of reach.

“You are all so soft.” Shiro murmurs, “So easy. So simple.”

If he’s going to die, at least it feels fair.

He is the one who let Shiro become this.

He’s paid for it ever since.

It’s never been enough.

Keith’s eyes widen, his arms fall limp at his sides. He can’t get enough energy to keep clawing at solid sheets of metal and electricity.

The grip starts to loosen.

Flickering yellow and black, Shiro’s eyes go in a frenzy, face contorting between torment and glee, a bad rendition of Thalia and Melpomene. The nails against his skin break flesh, then ease off, a whirlwind, a sign, a gift stolen from the gods. A cheat against Death.

It’s enough. Keith dives for his bayard and takes a rippling breath at the same time, fills his lungs, lets them loose.

The noise Shiro makes is not human.

It is guttural, a low moan turned howl, and he turns once, twice, enough for Keith to get enough air to stand, ready his stance again.

Shiro turns back to him. His eyes are pitch black, pleading. He stands stiff, still, flesh hand in a fist, trembling, tremors that seem like he’ll shake the ground they stand on. His metal arm sparks, black light, purple lightning. Rippling up his arm. Tearing through what armor he has left. Hurting.

“Keith.”

He shakes his head. His throat aches. His mouth is dry.

_No, please. Don’t ask me for that._

“ _Keith_.”

Shiro takes one footstep towards him. His eyes flicker once, then stop.

“Keith.  _Do it._ ”

His arm is haywire, black energy curling with the purple lightning.

“Keith.” He begs. “ _Please._ ”

He’s gotten closer. His flesh wrist reaches for the wrist with the hand that holds the bayard.

“You can do it.” He’s burning. The wounds supernova. “I know you can.”

He grits his teeth. Holds his bayard firm.

Shiro understands.

He runs him through.

* * *

_The world ends, for a moment. Everything changes._

_It’s a relief._

* * *

He sleeps, lacking an arm, still bruised, still scarred, one straight line down his chest, redder than all the others.

Keith stares at the pod.

* * *

_“It might not work.” Allura says, trying and failing to look calm. “The wound was…”_

_“Fatal.” Keith mutters, “I know.”_

_“When you brought him, I wasn’t sure—”_

_“I know.”_

_She frets. It’s been hard for all of them._

_“Keith, please. Don’t— don’t blame yourself. It— I’m sure it’s what Shiro would have wanted, rather than being a tool for the Galra.”_

_He would have lashed out, had she been wrong, had he not known, had he done it without being asked._

_Instead, he breathes out, shuddering. His throat is still bruised, despite his own time in a pod. Lightning scars, branching out, imprints of fingers burned into his skin._

* * *

Black wakes him up. He’s confused. Unsettled.

Someone else shares his connection. Searches for it.

 

_...Keith._

 

**Author's Note:**

> *plays 4 songs from badlands for 4 hours on rotation, only gets up to pee*  
> it's 1 am  
> I've been thinking about this since s2 trailer  
> I don't want Shiro to die so this is the alternative I came up with  
> maximum tragedy, but he lives! sort of. unsure territory there  
> unclear, but, keith's got the feelings  
> alt title was "you'll find that the lost always mean to be there"  
> what does that mean? good question


End file.
